


Satan Bleeds

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-04-15
Updated: 2001-04-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 15:29:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11338260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Thoughts from Mulder and pure M/K yumminess





	Satan Bleeds

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Satan Bleeds by Aries

Satan Bleeds  
by Aries  
  
November 1999  
Thoughts from Mulder and pure M/K yumminess  
First appeared in Leather and Armani, 2000

* * *

I watched him slip quietly out of bed and gather up his clothes.

We've done this dozens of times now, but I don't think I'll ever grow accustomed to it.

There was no moon tonight, and the street light was out, so I could only see his outline moving around the room. Graceful...stealthy. Always so quietly, even though there's no need for him to sneak around when he's here with me. Second nature, I guess.

Pulling his pillow under my head, I waited until he came back to sit on the edge of the bed.

I could just about make out the glitter in his eyes as he sat and leaned down over me. His kiss was soft and sweet, and there was a faint taste of me still on his tongue. He pulled back just a bit, took a playful swipe at my lower lip, and announced his departure.

Bye, honey, have a good day.

Night.

Week.

Whatever.

When he goes off to 'work', it's not exactly the same as when others do. His job is generally done in darkness. In dirty alleys and seedy motel rooms, sometimes half a world away. Sometimes I hear from him while he's gone, but usually I don't, and there's nothing I can do but wait and wonder where he is and if he's all right.

Eventually, he comes back. Tired, hungry...I feed him as much as he'll eat then hold him while he sleeps, no matter how long.

Easy.

Then there are the times when he comes back hurt and withdrawn...refusing to sleep, for fear of seeing in his dreams the things he'll never tell me about.

I see to the superficial injuries, cleaning and bandaging, and anything that needs more professional attention, Scully takes care of.

She doesn't trust him. She certainly doesn't like him, and she makes no bones about it, but she knows what he means to me, and so she goes along with it.

His other wounds aren't nearly so easy to take care of.

There are times when I'll wake up in the middle of the night and find him here, just sitting and watching me, and I can tell by the slump of his shoulders and dullness of his eyes that he's been through a bad time. I know that no amount of coaxing will get him to talk about it, so I hold my arms out, and he collapses into them, lying wide awake until the sun comes up. He might sleep a little once it's light, but only in twenty or thirty minute intervals. Sometimes it's enough for him to dream, and he wakes up wide-eyed and shaking. I can't get him to go back to sleep after that. It's at this point where he'll do one of two things. He'll either turn away from me, withdrawing completely, or he'll cling desperately to me, silently begging me to make him forget the horrors he will not name.

This is my time, and I take full control.

Control is not something he gives up readily, but when he does, it's unbelievable. Submissive, trusting Alex is a beautiful thing to behold.

He gives himself up to my hands and my mouth, whimpering and writhing at each touch, each kiss as though it was our very first. His eyes glow a deep, smoky green, and a light flush tinges his exquisite body...

His cock takes on a deeper, dusky shade, and it stands proudly from the nest of dark curls that surrounds it. It's a hard thing to resist, but I do, preferring to tease the rest of him first.

I lick and nip at every inch of his skin, lingering in all the right places. He likes it when I put my mark on him, and I'll often do it in a few different spots, so that no matter where he looks later on, there'll be a little reminder of me...something that tells him that he's mine.

My hands wander over his body, mapping out every vein, every muscle, every protrusion of bone, until I know the feel of him blind.

He clutches at me and sobs my name, begging to be fucked. I don't give in to him right away; I know he really doesn't want me to. I tease him for a bit longer, making sure he's good and desperate before I take him, and when I finally do, it's sheer heaven.

His eyes go all glazed, and they lose focus. His breathing gets shallow and erratic, and his legs clamp around my waist, trying to pull me in deeper.

I fuck him long and deep and slow, and the sounds he makes would make a weaker man crumble. But I hold myself together and give him as much as either of us can take.

I love fucking him. He's so hot and tight, and the way he holds on to me, it's like there's nothing else in the world but me...

When his muscles begin to tighten and he starts squeezing my cock, I know it's time to bring it home. I wrap my hand around him and stroke gently at first, but I know that isn't going to last. The minute I touch him, it sets him off. He starts to jerk and tremble, and there's nothing in the world that can stop him from coming. I increase the pace almost immediately as I fuck him harder. He bucks and cries my name, and when he finally comes, his body stiffens, and he and lets out this long, hard growl. He comes all over my hand and his stomach, and my skin slides against his as I fuck him harder and faster.

He whimpers softly, digging his fingers into my back and giving me encouragement. Then I come too, pumping every drop into this beautiful ass, and when it's done, I roll onto my back and pull him into my arms.

He finally falls asleep, and when he wakes, he's like a new man. I've never seen it fail. When he opens his eyes and he gives me that sweet, sleepy smile, my heart melts.

And I start wondering if maybe there's some way to put a patent on my dick...

And then days later, just as we're settling into a routine, he'll get a call, and he'll be off. And it'll start all over again.

Scully keeps telling me I'm insane for getting involved with 'that backstabbing, double-crossing son of a bitch', but I take all her dire warnings and predictions in stride. She doesn't know the Alex that I know. She never could. He's mine and mine alone. It'd make things a lot easier though, sometimes, if he'd let her have at least a peek at the man I know...

I remember the day she found out about us. It wasn't exactly the way I'd planned to tell her, but when he walked into the living room damp and naked, drying his hair, he didn't leave me much choice as to time and method.

Having been in the shower, he'd had no idea that she was there until they came face to face.

Oops.

That's what he said. That's all he said before he looked over at me with this expression on his face that was sort of a cross between regret and amusement.

Scully was in shock. She just kept staring, slack-jawed. And Alex, shameless bastard that he is, found what had promised to be an ugly situation vaguely...arousing, as his rising cock had attested to.

I called her name once, and when I didn't get her attention, I moved between her and Alex. I asked her to please sit down so I could explain, but she wasn't listening. She stood and watched in horror as Alex moved up behind me, wrapping an arm around my chest, and nuzzled my neck. I wanted to kill him, but at the same time my cock reacted, reminding me that this man I wanted to strangle was pressed up against my back...naked...and he was getting harder by the minute. And the fact that my partner stood before us, shocked and eventually furious, apparently didn't matter one bit. In mere seconds it was straining against my pants, begging me to bend Alex over the nearest chair.

Scully finally got over her shock enough to ask me what the hell was going on, and I asked her to please sit down so I could explain. I then turned to Alex who immediately wrapped his arms around my neck and gave me a sweet smile. I asked him...I *begged* him to behave himself and go into the bedroom so I could speak to Scully alone. He gave me a tantalizing pout and retreated into my room, leaving me to my extremely quiet partner. I gathered my courage and turned to face her. Now, almost a year later, I remember our conversation verbatim.

"Uh...Scully..."

"*What* the hell was that?"

"Scully..."

"Mulder...tell me I didn't just see Alex Krycek walk out here naked."

I opened my mouth, but before any sound could come out, she interrupted.

"And *tell* me he wasn't just wrapped around you, rubbing against you like a..a..a damn housecat."

"And what would you say if I told you that you didn't just see any of that?"

She took a deep, shaky breath.

"Mulder...*what*...is going on?"

I started at the beginning and didn't come up for air until the end of my story. She sat staring at me for the longest time before she said anything.

"So, you're telling me....Mulder, you're telling me this started *months* ago? When the hell were you planning to tell me?"

"Soon, Scully, it's just...I didn't know *how*."

"I don't understand Mulder. How could you...this is Alex Krycek. I mean, how could you touch him...how could you let him touch *you*?"

"Scully, I...don't think I never asked myself that same question. I spent weeks trying to understand it. Finally, I just let it go and gave myself up to my feelings."

"Your *feelings*."

"Yeah. Please understand or at least try to. Alex and I are together. Nothing is going to change that."

"Mulder, he's *slime*! Why is it that I need to tell *you* that?"

"I could try and explain this to you from now till we die, and you still won't believe it. Can you please just trust me? I haven't lost my mind, I promise you..."

It took almost two more hours of explaining and cajoling to get her to at least accept that what I was saying to her was not some sick joke. Another hour and she agreed, grudgingly, to keep her new found information to herself.

She left a while later, needing time to absorb what she'd seen and heard, and I retreated to the bedroom to take care of my troublemaking lover.

Hours later, he lay spent, bruised, sticky, and completely happy. Naturally, I bore the marks of his retaliation, and there's one small scar that remains on my inner thigh that I'll treasure always...

********************

It's been over a week now since he left, and just about seven days since I've heard from him.

Nothing new. I'm not worried.

And of course, I'm lying. Not about it being nothing new; it really *isn't* anything new. He's been gone longer than this without me hearing from him.

But I *am* worried. I begin to worry the minute he steps outside my door. And every day that passes is a hellish eternity, contemplating the possibility of a life without him.

He'll call soon. Or he'll just show up like he always does, and as soon as I've determined which way his mood is swinging, we'll run the drill.

I wish that just once when he got home, he'd tell me where he'd gone and what he did. He'd feel better if he would. I think he refuses to talk about it because he thinks that he's protecting me...then sometimes I think that maybe he's afraid that if he tells me, I'll be so repulsed that I'll eject him from my life and never want to see him again...I could never do that to him. Not now. Not ever.

*Then*, I think sometimes that maybe *he* thinks that if he doesn't actually talk about it, it won't be real. But his nightmares won't ever let him forget, and if I could just convince him that it would be better for him to talk to me, maybe those nightmares would go away.

********************

Two weeks.

No phone call, no word. Every passing night more restless than the last.

I need him home. Want him back here, whatever shape he's in. He could brood for a month, and I'd gladly endure the silence just to be breathing the same air as him. I need to see him. Even if he won't let me touch him, my eyes need to confirm that he's alive and well...well, alive at least. Having him here physically is the first and most important step. The rest can come later as it so often does.

Just come home, baby. Don't disappear out there in the blackness.

He's all right. He is. I think if something were really wrong, I would know it. I don't know how; I just think I would. I don't claim any mystical psychic connection between us, but I *am* given to premonitions...hunches. And at the risk of appearing too self-important, I'm usually pretty damn accurate.

There. I've talked myself into it. He's okay. He'll do what he's got to do, and he'll come back. Soon.

Please, Alex, come back soon.

********************

He's been gone almost a month, and sleep is merely a distant memory to me.

I've taken time off from work...the look on Skinner's face was priceless when I requested it, and I just wish I'd been in better humor so I could have really appreciated it.

I'm using every resource at my disposal to find him. I've even got the Gunmen looking. Poor guys are so confused. I promised them a full explanation later, and that seemed to pacify them well enough.

Scully is digging in too. With the extra work heaped on her because of my leave of absence, and in spite of her feelings about Alex, she's doing as much as she can and more. I'll never be able to express to her how much it means to me.

I've just come home after an exhaustive days-long search. I turned up absolutely nothing, of course, or I wouldn't be back here.

After days of being away, I hated coming back through that door to the silence. The intensity of it knocked me back into the hall, and I had to catch my breath before I could cross the threshold and enter the apartment.

I walked in, dropping my bag by the chair to the left of the couch and just stood, listening. As hard as I tried, I could hear nothing past the deafening roar of silence. Not his voice, not his laugh...not the soft, comforting sound of his breathing.

I don't know how long I stood there, but I do know that it was still light when I walked in, and by the time I decided to move, the first thing I had to do was turn a lamp on.

That was yesterday. I've been regrouping since then. More information gathering, more phone calls, checking in with Scully and the guys...

Scully left here just a little while ago.

She's scared. Not for Alex, I'd be stupid to think that deep down she really gives a damn what happens to him. The fear is for me. The red rings around my eyes are hardly unnoticeable, and they contrast drastically with the darkness under them. She's afraid that the way I'm going, I'll be on my way to a nice long hospital stay.

She demanded that I take a couple of days off to rest, and under that demand, there was a plea for the same. But I can't. She can't really expect that I will, not while he's out there somewhere, possibly hurt.

Hurt. It's the best I can hope for right now. I'm trying so hard not to think of all the other possibilities...

He needs me. If he *is* out there hurt and unable to get back to me, he'll be depending on me to find him and bring him home. I won't fail him. I can't. Not while there's breath left in me.

I told her flat out that there was no way in hell I'd take a whole two days off for something as ridiculous as rest. Two hours maybe...

We argued about it, though she knew that for her, it was a losing battle. Finally, I agreed to get a few hours rest, and I told her that it was the best offer she was going to get, so she'd just have to be satisfied with that.

Satisfied, she wasn't. But she knows me, and she knows that the harder she pushes, the more intractable I become.

So, she's gone now, and I'm supposed to be trying to sleep. Instead, I'm lying here on the couch, thinking. And thinking. I can't *stop* thinking. About his eyes, and the hundreds of emotions they're able to reflect. About his quirky sense of humor...I'd never have put Alex Krycek and laughter together...of course, at one time I'd never have put Alex Krycek and Fox Mulder together either, so...

I remember the first time I heard him laugh. We were watching the Super Bowl, and this beer commercial came on. The one with the talking frogs. He laughed so hard, he cried, and while I thought the commercial was merely amusing, I found myself laughing because *he* was. It's infectious, his laugh.

As is his passion.

As I've come to know over the years, Alex Krycek never does anything half-heartedly, and making love is certainly no exception. His lust, his hunger...it's an all-consuming thing, and from the day it touched me, I knew I was all done. I would never in my life want to belong to anyone else...

He's my god. Ruler of my heart, and seducer of my soul. He does things to me that I'd never thought were possible. Not even in my wildest dreams could I imagine feeling the way I feel when he's loving me. I'll worship at his feet for the rest of my days.

God, he's got to come back to me. There's no question that without him I can't make it through the rest of my life. Not as a sane, rational contributor to humanity. If I never see him again, if I never touch him, or feel his mouth on mine, I might as well just stop breathing.

I'm not usually given to fits of melodrama, but I can't help the way I feel. He's come to mean everything in the world to me, and if my world is taken away, what point is there in anything else?

********************

Four weeks, two days, twelve hours and twenty-two minutes.

Fifteen seconds.

I'm losing it here, and I can't. I can't, I've got to stay sane and focused. I won't be doing him any good if I land myself in a padded cell.

Scully's watching me carefully. She's got that *doctor* look in her eyes. I've got to think twice about everything I say and do. She's just waiting for an excuse, and I refuse to give her one. Though, today, something she said nearly put me over the edge. She asked if I'd given any consideration to the thought that maybe Alex was just fine and he hadn't come back, not because he couldn't, but because he just didn't want to.

It took every last bit of self control I had to keep from exploding. I figured it wouldn't be too long before she came around to that line of thinking, but hearing her actually say it set my nerves on edge. But I was cool. I argued the point softly and rationally, and when she left, I trashed the living room. I'm sitting here now in the midst of a pretty damn big mess, but I can't bring myself to care.

He did *not* just up and leave me. He wouldn't. Scully doesn't understand. She'll never understand what we've got.

It's all right. No one needs to understand. No one but Alex and me.

Jesus, I miss him so much. And I'm more afraid with every hour that goes by. For him...for me... I need him back. My mind and my body...everything that makes me, me needs him back.

I haven't slept in my bed in over two weeks...not that I call what I do *sleep*. I can't bring myself to lie in it. It's too cold. Too empty without him. I keep seeing us there wrapped around each other. Kissing and talking. Feeding each other cold pizza and watching bad movies at two in the morning...fucking each other into mindless oblivion...

If I close my eyes, I can hear him. Whispering to me in that low, smoky voice. God, I can smell him. I can feel him so warm and strong inside me, pushing me closer and closer to the brink...

I've gone back to the couch. I don't want to be there either. All I want to do is search for my Alex, and keep searching until I find him. But there are nights when my body refuses to let me do another thing until it's had at least a few hours of rest. So I lie there, my mind going in a hundred different directions at once until, finally, exhaustion shuts it down.

I'm up two or three hours later and back to work, sometimes losing all track of time and waking Scully or the guys at extreme hours. It isn't until I hear their sleepy tones that I realize I should have first looked at my watch before I picked up the phone. They may *want* to kill me, but they know how upset I am, and they do the best they can to accommodate my erratic habits.

It's getting late and I need to pick up this mess I made. I'm heading to Nebraska tomorrow on a scrap of information I'd received about a Consortium-run lab in Seward. If I find him, I don't want to bring him home to this. He's so bloody neat. Drives me crazy.

I'd give anything to hear him right now, giving me shit about the condition of the living room. God, I promise I'll gladly sit through any and all future lectures if I can just find him and bring him home.

********************

I'm reaching the end of my leads. The big, clandestine, Consortium lab turned out to be nothing more than an aspirin factory. I'm sure of that because I turned the place upside down looking for any clue that it was Syndicate related and found absolutely nothing.

I don't know what to do. I don't know where else to look, and I don't know how much longer my sanity can last. Desperation is moving in and taking over. People are going to start dying, and they aren't going to stop until somebody tells me where he is.

I'm looking around. Listening. Something is odd, here. Different. Nothing seems out of place or missing, but...

********************

I'm feeling so many things right now, I wouldn't even begin to know how to express them.

I searched my apartment, looking for any unwelcome company or anything that didn't belong. I started in the room I was in, moved to the kitchen, the bathroom, and finally the bedroom.

Gun drawn, I pushed the door open and squinted into the darkness. My eyes quickly adjusted, and a figure came into view.

Dark and huddled on the floor in the far corner.

My heart leapt into my throat. I secured my gun, knowing that there was no need for it. I couldn't make out a single feature in the deep shadows, but I knew as surely as I did my own name that it was him.

I rushed to the still figure and dropped to the floor in front of him. I called his name softly and raised a hand to his inclined head. He flinched, but his face remained hidden in the cradle of his arms.

I had no idea what it was he'd been through, but I knew it wasn't good. I continued to stroke his hair, speaking sweet, comforting things to him in my most soothing tone. I tried a couple of times to get him to his feet, but he refused, his body tightening like a spring, and he whimpered pathetically into his arms.

I gave up and knelt behind him, wrapping my arms around him and laying my cheek on his head. It was an awkward position, and my knees ached after a while, but I wouldn't let him go until he allowed me to get him up and put him to bed.

I made the attempt every twenty minutes or so and finally had success some two hours later. I lifted him to his feet without much resistance and guided him to the bed where I sat him down and carefully began to remove his clothing.

He looked as though he hadn't shaven or showered in a few days, and his eyes were redder than I've ever seen. I shed my own clothing, coaxed him to his feet, and led him into the shower where I gently but quickly washed him, checking for any injuries that I could see or feel. He never once winced or complained, so I had to assume that I hadn't found anything.

I got out of the tub first, hastily drying myself, then helped him out. He stood docilely while I dried him, the only sounds coming from him an increasingly violent, hissing shiver. I wrapped a large, dry towel around him and led him back to the bedroom where I removed the towel, made him lie down, then threw two heavy blankets over him. He burrowed into the warmth, but the shivers kept coming.

I slipped under the covers and pressed myself up against his back, wrapping him in my arms.

So many questions swirled in my head, but I held them back, knowing that he wouldn't answer anyway. I held on to his trembling body, inhaling the clean fresh scent of him, and thanking every god I could think of for bringing him back to me.

He lay quietly, the shivers abating after a while, and I thought he might have been falling asleep. But one of his hands closed itself around my wrist, and he shifted ever-so-slightly, fitting his body more closely against mine. Until that moment, I hadn't even been sure he knew I was there. I took it as an encouraging sign but still held my tongue, preferring to let him simply absorb my warmth.

He's asleep now, and I'm watching him...studying him, and I can see that's he's lost weight. The dark hollows under his eyes and pallid skin tone speak to the lack of sleep and nourishment. He refused to look at me, but he didn't need to for me to see the torment in his eyes. I've seen him come back looking pretty bad, but this time it's far worse. Far, far worse.

Alex, where have you been? What could possibly have happened to do this to you?

I want answers to those questions and so many more. I don't know if I'll ever get them, but I have to try. I've got to push it this time, for his own good and for mine.

He's getting restless. His lashes are fluttering, and I can see his eyes shifting back and forth beneath them. He's breathing more heavily, and intermittent spasms are wracking his body.

Damn, he's awake. Fifteen lousy minutes and he's awake.

********************

God, what a night.

With the exception of those fifteen minutes, he didn't sleep at all, and neither did I.

He didn't wake gently but rather with a violent start, wide eyes darting around until the sound of my voice finally reached him. He looked up at me then turned away, shaking. I hugged him to me and kissed his cheek, murmuring his name against it. I told him that everything was all right. That he was home and safe, but my words only succeeded in agitating him. He tried to push away from me, but I held tight. He began to struggle, sobbing the word 'no' over and over, but I gained control, moving over him and pinning him to the bed with my own weight. I could feel him weaken then finally stop fighting.

I released his wrists and kissed both of his closed eyelids, asking him to please look at me. He responded by turning his face away. I turned it back and asked again.

Slowly, he opened his eyes but focused them on a point somewhere beyond my face. I let the action go for the time being and spoke to him. I told him without the slightest bit of accusation in my voice how worried I had been when he'd disappeared for so long without a word. I told him how I'd been searching for him and of the fear that grew in me day by day, and couldn't he please just tell me where he'd been and what had happened to him.

He attempted to turn away again, but I was ready and refused to allow it. This time, I demanded to know, and this look came into his eyes that I wish I could accurately describe. It was a mixture of so many things...and none of them good. Madness, despair, loathing, and humiliation are but a few that come to mind. But there were more. So many more, and it scared me as much as anything had these past weeks. I thought I would lose him right there in my bed if I couldn't find some way to soothe him, and quickly.

I stroked his hair, frantically whispering to him that it was all right; he didn't have to talk about it. I told him again that everything was okay. I told him to rest and that I wouldn't ask him any more questions. I told him that I loved him.

It took a few seconds for my proclamation to register in his brain and mine. When it did, we simply stared at each other, blinking only occasionally.

The words had come out before I could think about them. I lay there on top of him, making a quick assessment of the situation and had decided that I did indeed mean what I had just said, and I would never take it back.

I continued to stare down at him, now with steadfast determination. He would understand what I had said to him, or I would tell him over and over until he did...

Apparently, my words had made it through the first time. Though his reaction was not quite the joyful one I would have hoped for. Thinking on it now, of course, I realize that I would have to be insane to think that he would simply forget his torment and be thrilled about having news of that magnitude thrown at him.

I watched one emerald eye well up and then the other. The tears shimmered in his eyes until they grew too heavy to remain. They spilled out of the outside corners and ran down the sides of his face and into his hair. He closed his eyes and turned his face away, bottom lip quivering with the effort it took to keep from sobbing.

I had no idea what to do. I didn't know what he wanted at that point. If I apologized, would he think that I was saying that I'd made a mistake in telling him that I loved him? Would he think that I'd lied? If I *didn't* apologize, would he think that I didn't care about the fact that my declaration of love had made him cry?

Not really expecting an answer, I decided to simply ask him what was wrong. He shocked me when for the first time since I found him curled up in the corner of my bedroom, he spoke to me.

His voice came out in a soft, barely discernible rasp, and as close as I was, I had to strain to hear him.

"You shouldn't," is all he said, but I realized that he meant I shouldn't love him.

I asked him why, and he asked *me* how I could love someone so despicable.

I thought then would be a good time to gently prod him again for some answers. I asked him what had happened to make him think of himself that way.

Again, he shocked me with answers.

He'd bounced around the U.S. the first couple of weeks, gathering information, then ended up in the Ukraine at a purported 'test site'. His information turned up correct, and he walked into what he could only describe as a small concentration camp setting. A handful of poorly constructed barracks-type structures were set in at least a half a foot of mud. Inside each, living in unbelievable squalor, scores of people. Test subjects for the hideous experiments performed there.

He began to choke on his words and had to stop for a while before continuing. While he pulled himself together, I caressed his face and hair, offering silent comfort.

He took a shuddering breath and told me about the children he saw. Dirty, tattered clothing. So skinny, he didn't know how they could stand. Some of them burned. Others missing limbs or terribly disfigured. But all had one thing in common. Large, vacant eyes. He saw no hope in them. No light.

Though there were also women and men there in basically the same condition, there were few actual families. The bastards who took these people had done so randomly, snatching them off the street, out of markets, schools, and factories, injecting them two and three times a day with substances they would never understand or long survive. Other unrelated experiments were performed, resulting in the various injuries and deformities he'd seen.

Some of the people he'd spoken to had been there a relatively short time, and others could not remember the last time they'd seen their families. He was the first outsider most of them had seen in many months.

They asked him if he was there to help them, and he felt an icy band wrap around his chest and squeeze until he couldn't breathe. He said he didn't know what else to do, so he looked them in their empty eyes and said yes. But these people had become evidence. Unwilling participants in the biggest attempt at assimilation humanity would hopefully never know. There was only one kind of help that he could offer them, and the prospect of it sickened him.

He left the barracks under cover of night and slipped into the main facility where the fuckers carried out their atrocities. As quickly as he could, he rigged the place with enough explosives to level a small town, slipped back out, then from a safe distance, he blew the installation and watched it all burn.

I don't recall even taking a breath while he recounted his horrific tale. It wasn't until he looked up at me with those tortured, uncertain eyes that I realized I had to say something to him.

My mouth opened, and I willed some intelligent sound to leave it, but nothing would come out. He again turned his face from me, but his eyes remained open, staring sightlessly at some unknown object across the room.

I don't know how long the silence lasted, but finally my brain began to scream at me, demanding that I say or do something to reassure the man who lay listlessly beneath me that he was not a monster and that he deserved all the love I had to give him and more.

I called softly to him, at first gaining no response, then I called again, and his eyes shifted to look at my chin. I cupped his face in my hands and asked him to look at me, which he did eventually. I told him that I understood. And if those poor people could speak to him, they'd tell him the same. If they had known as he did, that there was no other way out for them, they would have thanked him for showing them the mercy that they never would have seen from their captors.

He blinked up at me, disbelief registering in his eyes. He couldn't believe that I would understand when he wasn't even sure that *he* understood. He'd killed before. Plenty. All of them had deserved it, but these people...his people...they didn't deserve it. But he did it. There was no way around it, and he did it.

I felt the tremors begin, and soon after, he was sobbing. I rolled onto my side, pulling him against me, and I held him until he'd cried it all out. When all was quiet except for an occasional sniffle, I talked to him. I told him that those poor souls were already dead. It was just a question of how soon. He did for them what they could not do for themselves. He stopped their suffering and the indignities visited upon them. He punished the people responsible, and he made damn sure no one would ever use that facility again.

He lay shivering in my arms while I spoke, and when I had finished, he turned red-rimmed eyes up to me. He said that every time he tried to sleep, he would see those children. Those huge vacant eyes staring at him, asking for help.

I suggested to him that he was interpreting it wrong. It was also possible that those children were not there to haunt him, but to thank him for freeing them from their hell. And until he realized it, the guilt would gnaw at him until there was nothing left. And I wouldn't let guilt have him. He was mine.

I cupped his jaw and held his head still while I moved in for the first taste of his lips in over a month.

He wanted to respond. I could hear it in the soft moan...I could feel it in the shift of his body, but his mind was still at war with itself, unwilling to see his actions as merciful and forgive.

He pulled away, quivering.

"But some of them were just babies."

The profound grief in his voice was like a knife though my heart. I held him tightly, now also crying. For the waste of so many innocent lives, yes, but more so for my love. The one a certain number of people would refer to as the devil incarnate, incapable of love or sustaining emotional injury. But the 'demon' there in my bed, shivering and crying in my arms like a child, had been hurt badly, and he needed me to stop the bleeding and heal his wounds.

I held him through the remainder of the night, letting small kisses and reassuring caresses replace words. He fell asleep only a short time ago, still immersed in darkness, though bright sunlight now floods through the window.

I slipped quietly out of the room and called Scully to let her know that he was home, and she deduced immediately from my tone that all was not exactly well. She asked me what was up, and without going into great detail, I explained to her that he'd been through a very bad time. She asked if he needed to be checked out, and I told her that his wounds were not physical and that they were something I would have to deal with alone.

Still, she offered her help, should I need it. I thanked her, hung up, then returned to him. I think I'll try to get some rest while he's still out. He could wake up in the next half hour, and God only knows when my next chance would be.

********************

Night again.

He napped off and on throughout the day, never more than an hour at a time. I slept with him, and when he woke, I woke...usually to the muffled sound of his sobs. I'd draw him into my arms and just hold him for two, sometimes three hours at a time until he went back to sleep.

Finally, at around six, hunger overtook my own exhaustion, and I slipped into the kitchen to see if I could whip something up before he woke again.

When I finished scrambling some eggs, I poked my head into the bedroom to see if he was awake. He was, staring wide-eyed up at me from the shelter of the blankets. I entered and sat down at the edge of the bed, reaching out to stroke his hair. I told him what I was doing and asked if he was hungry. He shook his head and looked down at the space between us.

I asked him how long it had been since he'd had a meal and got no response. I asked him if he would *please* just eat a little bit, and he burrowed deeper into the blankets.

I decided on a different course of action. I excused myself and went out to the kitchen, got my food, then came back, dropping down onto the bed. I dug in, hoping that the smell would stimulate him, but he showed no interest. I set the plate on my lap so he could see into it, and not even the sight of my very flat, very dry, paper-thin scrambled eggs got a rise out of him. I gave up, finished my dinner, then settled in next to him again. I asked him if he wanted to watch a little television, and, getting no answer, I switched the set on. I propped myself up against the pillows, flipping through the channels until I found something light. His eyes drifted to the screen and stayed fixed on it, but I couldn't tell if he was actually watching it or if he was someplace else entirely.

I slowly ran my fingers through his hair while I watched, occasionally letting my eyes fall to his face. He was still staring at the screen, but his lashes were beginning to flutter. About fifteen minutes later, he was asleep.

And here I sit, beyond dead tired, but too awake to sleep. I should at least close my eyes. A little rest is better than none.

********************

He actually slept.

Well, he woke up once...so violently that I almost fell out of bed, and it took almost two hours to settle him to the point where he could go back to sleep, but he *did* go back to sleep. In fact, it's almost eight a.m., and he's still out.

I, on the other hand, have been up since two. I watched a little t.v., did some reading, but my attention always came back to him.

I turned onto my side, propping my head in my hand, and watched him sleep, again giving a round of thanks for getting him back. Granted, he came back broken, but I think all the pieces are here. I've just got to put them back together.

My Alex. My dazzling killer. Sweet and arrogant, tender and fierce...hypnotic as a cobra but no more deadly to me than a spring lamb...

Pale, weakened, and so very far away even as he lies within six inches of me, but no less beautiful than the day he left. And no less desirable.

I hate myself right now. How can I be thinking about this? Here he is, struggling through the worst emotional period in his life, and I'm lying here thinking about how much I'd really love to fuck him.

Jesus, Mulder, stop it. *Look* at him.

Yeah, I'm looking at him. Now, I want to touch him. No. I *need* to touch him...

But I won't. I messed him up enough when I told him I loved him. I'd only make things worse by letting him know that I want him. His mind simply can't process another thing right now. It's full to overflowing, and now his body has taken over and shut it down.

It's all right, love. Sleep. Let the horror pass into distant dreams. And if your eyes should open and it remains, I promise you, you won't face it alone. As long as it takes for you to make the journey through your hell, I'll be there by your side.

********************

Scully stopped by after work. She said she came over to see if there was anything I needed then casually asked about Alex. I know she's dying to know exactly what had happened to him, but she wouldn't come right out and ask.

I told her he was asleep and thanked her for asking, but I'd had some stuff delivered earlier, and there was nothing I needed.

She nodded, looking around then focused on me. For ten minutes I listened to the dangers of sleep deprivation, and just before her lecture would have put me to sleep, Alex's screams sent us both tearing into the bedroom.

Scully faded from my sight and my memory as I dropped onto the bed and gathered my wailing lover up into my arms. I held him to my chest, rocking slowly while I mumbled fractured, comforting words to him.

He rambled incoherently between sobs about babies, torture, and death. He apologized over and over again to no one in particular, and it was a good long time before I could calm him enough to make him realize that he was home with me.

His body sagged in my arms as all the remaining energy drained out of it. I lowered him to the bed, planting light kisses on his face and forehead. As I straightened up, I noticed that he'd fixed a flat stare on my long-forgotten partner who stood in the doorway, hand over her mouth and an expression of morbid curiosity on her face. I thought I might have seen a tinge of sympathy there too but told myself I was seeing what I wanted to see. His voice startled me, and I snapped my head back around to look at him as he spoke to Scully.

"Worse than you thought."

That's all he said, but it was enough to set Scully in motion. She stepped forward, loading up, preparing to fire a barrage of questions at him, but I intercepted and led her back out of the room. I closed the door behind us, and she immediately started throwing her unasked questions at me, wanting to know where he'd been, what he'd done, why he looked so awful...she pressed for the meaning of the few words he'd said to her and wanted to know what all that babies and torture stuff was about.

There was no way in hell she was going to leave me alone now, so I told her. Gave her the short, direct version of what had happened, and at the end of it, she stood in front of me, slack-jawed and silent. I thought that once she'd found her voice, I'd be in for the lecture of my life, but she shocked the hell out of me when the first words out of her mouth were, "Oh, my God. I guess I would be a zombie too, after that." Then she asked if there was anything at all that she could do to help.

I felt like I should light a candle or something.

I shook my head and told her that I really didn't think there was anything she could do. In fact, I didn't know that there was much *I* could do.

She took my hand and gave me a reassuring smile, telling me that I was giving him everything he needed and to hang in there. She had every confidence that'd I'd be able to pull him out of this state he was in. I thanked her again, and she left.

I felt better after that brief visit. Fortified. It seemed I now had someone to fall back on. As much help as she'd been to me trying to find him, that was strictly in the name of friendship. She'd lent little if any emotional support. *And* I know damn well that deep down she was probably thinking that I'd be better off if he never came back.

It now appears that knowing what Alex had been through and seeing for herself his state of mind had changed her outlook, and for that I'm grateful.

I went back into the bedroom, and for one terrifying instant, my heart leapt into my throat. The bed was empty. Then I heard the toilet flush, and my panic eased. Thank God. I was on my way to thinking that he might have crawled out the window or something.

I sat down on the bed and waited for him to come out. And I waited. And I waited some more. Finally, I began to worry, so I went over to the bathroom and knocked on the door. No answer. I knocked again and called to him. Just as my voice was trailing off, a crash came from inside. I threw the door open and found him standing at the sink, water running, staring at the shattered mirror. Blood was dripping down his right hand and had started to make a small puddle at his feet.

I ran in and grabbed for his wrist, shoving his hand under the running water so I could see where he was cut and how badly. It wasn't deep enough to warrant stitches, so I checked it for glass, washed it thoroughly, and bandaged him up. The whole time I worked, he stood watching with a sort of quiet detachment...as though it were someone else I was working on.

When I finished, I led him past the broken glass and back into the bedroom. Once I had him back in bed, I tucked the covers up around his chest and sat beside him. He refused to look at me while I studied his face. He just stared down at his bandaged hand.

I called his name with a calm I didn't really feel and asked him why he broke the mirror. He blinked and began to chew on his lower lip but said nothing. I tried again, keeping a tight rein on my emotions, and asked him to *please* tell me why he did it.

Still, he said nothing, but from his movements, I could tell that he was becoming a bit agitated.

Not for the first time since he came home, I didn't know what to do. I thought that maybe I should just leave him alone, but I was now afraid to. I had no idea if he would get out of bed again if I left, and if he did, what would he do next?

I opted for just sitting in the chair by the bed and watching t.v. I kissed the side of his head, told him I'd be back, then rose from the bed and went into the bathroom to clean up the glass. When I returned, he was on his back, staring out at the darkened window. I settled into the chair a few feet away and turned the set on, staring for I don't know how long at the screen while my brain churned, attempting to process and analyze this new incident.

Scratch a suicide attempt. If there was one thing the man knew plenty about, it was killing. He probably could've found a hundred different ways to do away with himself right there in the bathroom if that was what he really wanted to do.

Accident? Not a chance in hell.

Anger. A possibility, though he didn't look angry when I came in. He didn't look *anything*. Didn't mean he wasn't. I knew he felt guilty and responsible for those people, but he didn't look any of those things either.

I felt a major headache coming on.

I closed my eyes without ever really realizing it, and before I knew it, I was asleep. I woke nearly two hours later and sat up quickly, immediately looking to the bed.

Alex, now on his side, shifted his eyes away quickly, and he looked toward the window.

Not expecting an answer, I asked him if he'd been awake all that time. I got what I'd expected.

I looked at my watch, noting the growing lateness of the hour, and stood up, stretching. I stripped down to my shorts and moved to the bed, lifting his bandaged hand in mine. The bandage hadn't bled through, so I left it alone. I walked over to my side of the bed and slipped in beside him. I leaned back against a pile of pillows and stared down at him while lightly petting his head. After a few minutes he closed his eyes, and just as I thought he might be falling asleep, he spoke to me. His words were so full of confusion and anguish...

"How can you stand to look at me?"

And the answer to my brain's previous question flashed in my head.

He couldn't stand to look at *himself*.

At the risk of flipping him out further, I answered.

I said because he was beautiful to look at...

That little crease appeared between his eyebrows.

I told him because I wanted to understand why he was doing this to himself, and I wanted to make it better.

I slid down, molding myself to his back, and wound an arm around his waist. I said because I kept hoping that he'd look back at me and let me have a little glimpse into his heart. Then I rested my head lightly on his and told him because I loved him more than he knew, and it was killing me that he was in such pain...and I hated that there seemed to be nothing I could do or say to help him.

He remained silent, but his eyes opened, and there seemed to be a bit of a different expression in them. Maybe it was wishful thinking. Or maybe my fried brain was just starting to make things up. I couldn't be sure because as I was about to ask him, the tiny light that I thought I'd seen in his eyes faded, and with it went my courage.

I sit here now at three a.m., watching him twitch and moan, but I'm reluctant to wake him. I don't know that a restless sleep isn't better than no sleep at all.

Have they come to you again tonight, Alex? Those doomed souls with the hopeless eyes... Put your guilt and your fear of yourself aside for one moment, and you may understand that they lay no blame at your feet.

I know you've been witness to and probably have been bearer of many other horrors. You've come back to me shaken and bruised, but this is by far the worst state I have ever seen you in. You hate yourself, and you expect me to share in your loathing. Yet you allow me to hold and touch you...you seem to need the closeness, though it seems to bring you little comfort.

You need to forgive yourself, love. I know you can do it. God knows you've done far more impossible things; the most impressive being where, somehow you took a man who'd despised you...who'd wanted to beat you into the next year every time you came within half a mile of him, and you made him fall so deeply and completely in love with you. *That* was impossible, yet you managed it so easily...so subtly.

I'd never even known what had hit me, not until the night when after a particularly confusing confrontation, I'd found us back at my apartment, you naked under me...around me...so sweet, and so giving, and intense. I'd never once stopped to think, 'Oh my God, what the hell am I doing?' I hadn't wanted to. All I'd wanted to do was feel you. Your mouth and your hands all over me, and that unbelievably tight heat surrounding me, squeezing...driving me so goddamn insane...

When I'd opened my eyes the next morning, I'd not expected to find you there. But you'd stayed, and when I'd looked into those beautiful, unsure eyes, I'd become hopelessly and forever lost.

You made me yours, Alex. You made me forget the hatred and suspicion, and before I knew it, when I looked at you, I could feel nothing but desire and love.

If you can perform miracles of that magnitude, you can do this. Piece of cake, baby. Please. I'm here, just reach out. Hold on to me. Let me be your strength and your comfort. I'm right *here*. Believe that you're worthy of everything I've got to give you and just take it.

********************

It's mid afternoon, and I've been up only for about an hour and a half.

He woke up at around four-thirty, shaking, eyes darting around the room, looking for his ghosts. I got him to settle down then lay behind him, gently massaging his knotted back and shoulders until I heard his respiration slow and deepen. Then I closed my eyes and fell asleep until eleven-thirty.

I've got to go back to work tomorrow, and sleeping these erratic hours is going to kill me. But that's actually the least of my worries. I'm unsure about leaving him alone. I'm afraid of not finding him here when I return.

Maybe I should extend my leave just a couple of days. He needs time, and I can't help him if I'm not here for ten hours out of the day.

********************

He's up.

I know that not because I had to rush into the bedroom to comfort him, but because he just wandered into the living room.

I was sitting at the computer...still am, and the feel of another presence brought my attention to the doorway. He lingered there for a little bit, looking uncertainly around and doing everything he could to avoid my eyes. When he finally decided to move, he gravitated toward the chair and picked up the sweater I'd thrown over the back. Slowly and methodically, he began to fold it. Holding it against himself and repeatedly smoothing the wool with one hand, he glanced so very briefly at me through his lashes then drifted back into the bedroom.

I hear the shower now. Good sign. Maybe he's getting ready to rejoin the living.

********************

He reappeared about twenty minutes after he'd gone back into the bedroom, showered and shaven remarkably well for a man who'd had to do it without benefit of a mirror. But then, I suppose he's had plenty of practice.

I watched him over the rims of my glasses as he moved slowly around the perimeter of the room, finally coming to stand at the window behind my chair. I turned halfway and looked up at him, giving him a hint of a smile, then went back to my work. Ten minutes later, he cleared his throat and asked in a barely audible voice if I'd like some lunch. I turned, completely facing him and asked if he was hungry. He shrugged and said, "A little."

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I rose from my chair and gave him a wider smile. I told him to relax, and that I would get lunch, but he quietly insisted that he wanted to do it. I gently grasped his hand and raised it for inspection. I asked him how it felt, and he shrugged his answer. I unwrapped the bandage for a closer look and saw just a little swelling and no sign of infection. I led him into the bathroom, and while I cleaned and re-bandaged it, he stood quietly, stealing guilty glances at my mirror that was no more.

When I was done, I held onto his hand lightly, my thumb stroking over the visible skin. I told him that I would be more than happy to make us some lunch, but if he really wanted to it, he could go ahead.

He nodded and sidled past me, slipping silently out of the bathroom.

I went back to work, waiting until I heard him setting plates and utensils down on the table, then I went to join him.

The hot turkey sandwiches and tomato soup smelled wonderful, and it wasn't until then that I realized how hungry I really was. I commented on that to him and started in, and when I was about halfway through the meal, I looked up to notice him picking slowly at his own food. I slid over to the chair closest to his and caressed the underside of his chin, asking him why he wasn't eating.

"I'm eating," was all he said, so softly I almost didn't hear him.

I pushed my own food aside and picked up his spoon, dipping it into the soup and holding it to his lips. He hesitated, looking at me apprehensively, and when I gave him an encouraging smile and pushed the spoon against his mouth, it opened, and he took the offering. A few spoonfuls and a couple of bites later, he refused to let me continue, stating that he could feed himself. I countered by telling him that I knew he could, but obviously he wasn't, or I wouldn't be sitting there doing it for him.

He lifted the sandwich and took a bite, then had a spoonful of soup, and I returned to my own lunch, keeping a close eye on his progress.

When he'd finished almost all of the soup and three quarters of the sandwich, he quit, but I was satisfied. It was more than he'd eaten in quite some time, I'll wager.

I drained the water from my glass, and as I was setting it back down on the table, he asked me in that almost non-existent tone when I'd be going back to work.

I could have lied and given him the date that I'd planned to extend to, but I opted to tell him the truth, that I was due back tomorrow, but I thought that it might be a good idea to take a couple more days.

He told me he was all right and that I could go back to work.

I smirked and made a crack about him wanting to get rid of me, but it went over like a lead balloon. He simply sat staring at his hands and said that he knew how important my work was, and I shouldn't be taking out so much time just to babysit him.

I covered his hands with mine and told him that there was nothing more important to me than he was and that I would be here for as long as he needed me.

He shook his head, insisting that he was fine, and he begged me to please go back to work.

I didn't want to do it, but he was so upset about the thought of keeping me from work I thought it best to do whatever he wanted. I agreed to go back, but I made him promise that if he needed me, he would call.

He promised though I really didn't believe him, and we left the work discussion at that.

The rest of the day was spent in virtual silence, me clearing up the work on my desk, and him cleaning or tucked into a corner of the couch, staring at the t.v.

We had dinner at seven, then I sat down with him to watch a movie. He folded himself into the corner, and I sat down right alongside him, our shoulders and thighs touching.

I felt like a teenager on a date at the movies. When he didn't shy away from the touch of my leg against his, I lifted my right arm and laid it across the back of the couch behind his head. He remained focused on the t.v., though I could detect the faintest tremble of his body. A few minutes later, I let my fingers brush along the collar of his shirt then wander into his hair. I gently massaged his scalp, gaining a rewarding sigh.

Afraid to go much farther, I tenderly kissed his temple and leaned to the side until my head rested against his.

God, it felt so good to be that close to him just for the sake of being close. The scent of his skin and the silky feel of his hair between my fingers...the hardness of his thigh pressed against mine. I wanted so much to lay him down there on the couch and make love to him, but I couldn't. I think he would have let me, but I don't want him to do that. I don't want him to *allow* me to make love to him. I want him right there with me, giving and receiving, crying my name, and begging for more. I want that so badly, I can taste it. But until he can purge himself of this terrible guilt, I'll go on wanting.

I love him. And I'll wait as long as I have to.

********************

This had to have been the longest workday I can remember.

To say I was exhausted would be putting it much too mildly. Between wondering and worrying about Alex all day and the three *good* hours of sleep I got last night, I was a zombie.

I walked in at six-thirty to a pristine apartment and the aroma of roasted chicken permeating the air. But I only had a few seconds to notice as the opening of the door had startled Alex out of sleep, and he jerked into a semi-sitting position, looking wild-eyed around the room.

I threw my coat in the general direction of the coat tree and rushed over to him before he could get up. I sat at the edge of the couch, facing him, and straddled his upper body with my arms.

"Wore yourself out, didn't you?"

He stared up at me, and I don't know if it was my own building desire that was starting to make me see things, but I could swear I saw longing glittering in his eyes. It was only there for a moment, but the intensity of it was palpable. He started to rise, but I refused to move aside to let him up. He made a weak comment about dinner burning, and I held him down with one hand on his chest. I leaned in as close as I could get without our lips touching, and I told him that I would go and check on dinner.

I got up and moved off into the kitchen without looking back, checked on the food, and returned to find him curled up on his side, eyes closed. He practically jumped out of his skin when I approached and announced that the chicken looked done.

I kneeled on the floor in front of him and gently rubbed one thigh, apologizing for scaring him. He drew in a couple of shaky breaths and nodded, saying that it was okay. Then he suggested that I go get changed, and he'd get the food out on the table.

I let him stand but then grasped his upper arms and turned him to me. I asked him how his day was aside from the cleaning and the cooking, and he told my nose that it was fine. I wanted to ask for details, but I didn't want to upset him by letting dinner get cold. I nodded my acknowledgement and, kissing his forehead, walked into the bedroom.

During our relatively quiet dinner, I found him staring at me. Of course, every time I caught his eye, he looked away. Finally, I grew a bit weary of the cat and mouse game and asked him if there was something he wanted to tell me.

He shrugged and looked down to his plate, watching his fork push his mashed potatoes around.

"You look like hell."

My eyes widened in surprise, then I began to laugh. Not at him exactly, it was more a laugh of relief. I asked him if he'd only just noticed that, and I got another shrug as an answer.

We finished the rest of the meal, cleaned up, then turned in for the night.

Alex had suggested that maybe it would be a good idea for him to sleep on the couch so I could get a decent night's sleep, and I asked him if he was out of his mind. Sleeping away from him was not the answer, and I didn't want to hear another word about it.

And I didn't.

Amazing.

Enjoy it while it lasts, Mulder.

We got into bed, and I curled myself around him, kissing the back of his neck. He didn't touch me, though I could feel the desire. Alex and I have been together too long for me not to recognize the signs.

I stroked his arm and whispered his name against his shoulder as I let my erection press gently against his ass. Except for the tiny tremble I felt run through him, he gave no outward response.

Inside, he was screaming. I could hear it in my head as well as I could hear my own inner voice. But the damned internal war he'd been fighting for days was still raging, and apparently, the enemy still had a foothold. I believed it was slipping, but by the time he'd freed himself, I feared that one or both of us might be dead from frustration.

Nevertheless, I tucked my arm around his chest and rested my cheek against his back, ceasing all attempts at a sexual overture. I kissed the quivering flesh beneath my lips, told him goodnight, then settled down for what I hoped would be a peaceful night's sleep for both of us.

********************

Well, it was mostly peaceful...if I don't count the hour and a half I spent trying to calm him after he woke screaming that some of those people were still alive, burned and wandering through the rubble of the camp.

It wasn't an easy thing to convince him that it was nothing but a dream. I had to hold him down as he struggled to get up, saying that he had to go back and find them. I begged for him to calm down and think. With all the explosives he'd used, there was no way in hell *anything* had survived the blast.

He cursed at me in English and Russian, asking why I would want to leave them there, and I was really afraid that I was going to have to slap him to snap him out of his growing hysteria. Instead, I held him tightly while he fought against me, begging to be let go. I refused, demanding that he listen to me. In my firmest voice, I told him that there was no one left. Nothing at all to be found, and I wanted him to stop torturing himself with such thoughts.

He shook his head, whimpering. He said he heard them...not just in his dreams, but all the time. They were there in the back of his head, calling to him. In his mind he could see children picking their way through the smoldering remains looking for someone to help them. His hands rose to his head, clutching at his hair, and he pressed his lips together to muffle the sobs that shook his body.

I loosened my hold on him and gently pried his hands from his hair. He'd been pulling so tightly at the strands that a few came away, stuck between his clenched fingers. Holding his wrists, I folded his arms and mine around his middle and whispered to him that it was all in his head. Guilt was making him see and hear those things. Then I told him to go ahead and cry. Cry for them one more time, and then let them go.

He wept himself into unconsciousness, and when he was finally fast asleep, I rested my cheek against the back of his shoulder and let myself join him.

********************

Four more days have passed.

The nightmares have become more infrequent though they seem just as intense. But at least now, he's resigned himself to the fact that there's no one left at the camp and has stopped talking about going back.

Yesterday, out of the clear blue he told me that he didn't think he could do it anymore. He was tired of the lies and the blood...the double-crossing and the back-alley deals. He asked me what it was like to feel the sun on my face...to walk with honest purpose, and I took him into my arms and cried.

My exquisite black rose. A singular beauty whose fearsome thorns have kept all but one away. Only I have been allowed to touch him without fear of consequence, and I have found that as beautiful as he appears to be, his multi-layered interior is far more extraordinary. His sensitivity and depth of compassion awe me, and his capacity for tenderness and love reduce me to speechlessness.

He's no saint, and I have in no way convinced myself of such a fabrication. But he's taught me that true beauty can be found in the most unlikely places.

And he is truly beautiful. Even now as he is immersed in all his torment and self-doubt...

Especially now.

********************

Today started off like the many days before.

Work. Bullshit. Home...Alex...

We had a quiet dinner, and later I sat down to watch a little t.v. while he cleaned up.

I wanted to help him, but he insisted that I go and sit down, commenting on how tired I looked. I wish I could have argued that point, but I *was* beat. And for once, it had nothing to do with lack of sleep. It had been an extremely long, extremely aggravating day. Everything that could have gone wrong did, and I couldn't wait to just go to bed and put it all behind me.

He came in from the kitchen and sat quietly beside me, and for the first time in almost two weeks, I didn't have to pull him closer. He sat down right next to me, his thigh touching mine. The next thing I knew, he was nuzzling his way under my arm and snuggling against my chest. I could have died from the sheer joy of that moment.

I wrapped my arms around him, kissing the top of his head. I didn't know what to say, so I kept silent, just soaking in his warmth and the comforting weight of his head on my chest.

The conversation that followed took place a few hours ago, but I can recall what was said with crystal clarity...

"Fox?"

I kissed his head again and responded. "Yeah, baby?"

"I...I'm sorry."

"What for?"

His hand began to gently caress my chest, and I had to concentrate to hear everything he was saying.

"For being so much trouble..."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"You've done so much worrying because of me. You've lost so much sleep..."

I hugged him closer. "You're hurting, Alex. You've been through so much hell. I'll spend the next year existing on two hours a night if that's how long it takes for us to get you through this."

He went quiet for a few minutes, then he again called my name.

"Yeah?"

He turned his face up and looked at me with an expression so heartbreakingly earnest I had to blink several times to clear the mist from my eyes.

"I love you too."

I stared, overwhelmed at the suddenness of his confession. It seemed that I'd lost the ability to move or speak until he rose up just far enough to brush his lips against mine.

He hesitated, our lips still touching, then he opened to me, and I went into complete meltdown. I could feel my own moans vibrate through the two of us as I took his mouth in a desperate kiss. It took every bit of resolve I could muster and then some to hold myself in check, but by some miracle, I managed it. The kiss softened, and I slid one hand into his hair, forcing myself to take the time to relish the taste of him.

He clung to me, whimpering in protest as I broke contact momentarily to shift him so that he was lying across my lap and I was cradling him in my arms. As soon as he was in the desired position, my mouth again found his, and we kissed, feeding on each other like starving men at a banquet.

So long. Oh, God, it'd been so long since we'd been together like that, the sensation of his mouth on mine went far beyond arousing. Faster than an eyeblink, I was teetering on the edge of madness, and when his tongue slipped inside my mouth, curling around mine, I all but lost it. My hand went to his shirt, tugging at the buttons, insisting that they yield, and then I was touching his bare chest, feeling the hot, virtually hairless skin beneath my palm. The world's finest silks could not have felt any more wonderful.

My hand roamed over him, leaving not a single inch of exposed flesh wanting for attention. By touch alone, I could tell how much weight he'd lost and made a mental promise to myself that whether it be by bribery, threats or just plain old pleading, I was going to see to it that he got back to his original weight, and soon.

He arched and groaned into my mouth as my fingers played lightly over one nipple. Enjoying his response, I closed my fingers over it and pulled gently. His head fell back against my arm, and he sounded a loud gasp.

I don't know if he's just that sensitive, or if I'm really just that good...my ego likes to think that I'm just that good, but, I love the way my simplest touch can set him off. I told him once that I wished I had the ability to step outside of myself so I could watch us making love. He told *me* that the simple answer to that would be a video camera. I laughed it off, but the thought had always stayed in my mind.

Alex and me on video tape. My own private library...better than anything on the market.

I might have to take him up on that suggestion someday...

I lingered for a while, pinching and teasing his nipple, then moved on to the other one, subjecting it to a similar torture, and I watched him, hypnotized as he writhed and whimpered in my arms

His eyes...bottomless pools of forest green staring up at me through that sinfully thick fringe of sable lashes...Jesus, I'd go to the ends of the earth just to see that look in his eyes...

His mouth, a beautiful, flushed bow, parted just enough that I could see the flash of white beneath, and the soft, breathy rasp of his voice, calling my name...

The erratic pulse in his exposed throat, pounding in concert with my heart, confirmed our unity.

My hand slid up to his throat, fingers pressing momentarily to the tiny throb, then moved on, brushing over his lips. He moaned softly, and his tongue slipped out to touch my fingertips. I twitched at the sensation and imagined that it was the head of my cock that he was licking.

I pulled my fingers away, quickly bringing my mouth down on his, turning the beginnings of a complaint into a frantic whimper of need. I deepened the kiss, stealing his breath and muffling the sound, and all he could do was cling desperately to me as we sank together into a warm ocean of bliss.

My hand roamed over him as we continued to kiss, moving occasionally down over the prominent bulge in his jeans. Each time it did, his body tightened, and he arched up into the touch, seeking greater contact.

Finally, I let my fingers slip beneath the too-loose waistband, just barely grazing the moist tip of his cock. He twisted and moaned into my mouth, wordlessly attempting to make me reach farther down into his pants. I responded by pulling my hand out, and he broke the kiss, practically sobbing, and pleaded with me...

"Please...no. Touch me, Fox. Please..."

I stroked the hair back from his forehead. "Are you sure?"

"Sure?"

"Are you sure you're up to this? You haven't been, sweetheart, and I don't want to push you."

I could read the answer all over him, but I wanted to hear him say it.

"No...no, not pushing." The look he gave me was a bone-melting combination of agony and love. "I want...want you. Please, Fox..."

Awkwardly, I moved him from the couch to the bedroom. Of course, if we had let go of each other and I had turned him around instead of backing him from one room into the next, it might have been a little easier. But I don't think we could have pried ourselves apart with a crowbar.

Once we hit the bedroom, I undid his jeans, pulling them and his underwear down. I knelt slowly in front of him, gently nuzzling his cock, taking in the scent and feel I'd missed so much.

His fingers plunged into my hair, and his hips automatically thrust forward, causing his cock to jab into my cheek. I cupped his ass, feeling the muscles tense in my palms, and held him still while I slid my mouth over the head and halfway down the shaft.

He cried out and began to sway, and I realized that at any minute his legs were going to give out on him. Never releasing him from my mouth, I lowered him to the bed. He fell onto his back, legs hanging off the edge of the bed, and I took the opportunity to pull his pants the rest of the way off.

I drew back slowly, applying a light, sucking pressure until his cock fell out of my mouth, then started to pull his shoes off.

"No..."

I shushed him, kissed the tip of his cock, and removed his jeans and underwear, dropping them to the floor beside me. Slowly, I kissed and caressed his thighs and looked up at him. He'd grabbed up handfuls of the blanket and was twisting it frantically while he made this soft, whining sound. He's so pretty when he's desperate.

I leaned in, licking the inside of one thigh, and the whining grew louder. I chose a spot and sealed my mouth over it, sucking just hard enough to leave a mark. I couldn't see up to his face, but from the sound of his groan, I could tell that he was gritting his teeth. I soothed the bruise with my tongue then inched my way up, lightly flicking at his balls, and the pleading began again.

"Fox...I can't...don't....oh, God...need...I need you..."

I kissed the base of his cock and smiled up at him. "I know you do, baby." I stroked up his thighs and stomach, then back down, curling one hand around his cock, caressing it tenderly. "I need you just as much." I bathed his balls, gauging the limit of his tolerance by the tone of his cries. When I was sure that he was reaching the end of his rope, I got to my feet and swung his legs up onto the bed, removing the shirt he still wore before settling him back against the pillows. I took my clothes off and pulled the nightstand drawer open, grabbing for the lube. I unscrewed the cap as I kneeled over him, then held his hand while I squeezed some out into his upturned palm. I tossed the tube back onto the nightstand then straddled his waist.

There was no need for words. He wrapped his hand around my cock, drawing a soft moan from the both of us, and he gently applied the lube. When he finished, I took two deep breaths, kneeled between his parted legs, then slipped my hands under his hips and pulled him forward.

It had been so long, but my body never forgot the feel of his around me. I entered him as slowly as I dared, sure that I would pass out from the pleasure. He was so tight, and his muscles kept clenching around me. There was no way I could last with him doing that, but he couldn't help it. He no longer had control of himself, and I was quickly losing my own grip on sanity.

When I was as deeply inside him as I could go, I leaned forward, simultaneously urging him to wrap his legs around my waist. I began to thrust gently, then brushed my lips across his. The moist, salty taste brought me to the realization that one of us was crying. I pulled back a bit and looked down at his damp face. Thinking that something was wrong, I froze, heart pounding, and I asked him if he was all right. He nodded, the flow of his tears increasing. He opened his mouth to speak, and he choked out the words.

"I love...love you, Fox," he whispered while stroking my cheek.

"Baby..." I kissed a tear away as it fell, and my open mouth brushed his, transferring the moisture. "I love *you*." I began to move again, using firm, slightly faster strokes. "God, I love you..."

He clutched at me, arching upward. "Need to feel...you...harder..."

I submitted to his plea and increased the strength of my thrusts, taking us both to the brink of orgasm.

He clawed at my back, panting and gasping as the tears continued to fall, begging for more, and I gave it to him. I slipped a hand between us, grasping his cock, and began to pump it slowly at first, then with increased vigor as he bucked beneath me, sobbing incoherent words.

It felt as if the whole world was closing in on me, getting smaller and smaller until nothing else existed except for that moment and the man writhing and whimpering beneath me, in his own way begging me to pull him in from the edges of darkness.

My vision blurred, and the air got thinner as spasm after spasm roared through me. There was the distant sound of screaming, but I couldn't tell if it was coming from Alex or from me. I continued to milk him even after my hand became drenched in his semen, and I drove into him until every last tiny flutter had ceased. Finally, I collapsed on top of him, exhausted and quivering. He lay motionless beneath me, barely breathing, though I could feel the heavy thud of his heart. I turned my face to his, nuzzling his cheek and licking a dot of moisture away from his jaw. He never moved a muscle. I lifted my hand and ran the side of my index finger down the bridge of his nose and asked if he was still alive.

He moaned softly, and his eyelashes began to flutter slightly. A few seconds later, his eyes drifted open. I gave him a weak smile and asked him how he felt. He gave me a heart-melting look and whispered one word so softly, I almost didn't hear him.

"Loved."

"Worshipped," I added, kissing the corner of his mouth. "Adored..." I couldn't help myself. I had to say it... "Well fucked?"

He treated me to a soft laugh and nodded. "Definitely." The tiny smile faded from his lips. "Thank you."

I didn't understand, and I asked him to explain. He said he was thanking me for not abandoning him after I'd found out what had happened. He thanked me for always being there when he woke up from one of his nightmares and for being so patient with him.

I adore him. He's a beautiful, intelligent man, but he doesn't quite get it. It's all right. He will.

I lifted myself off of him and turned onto my back, pulling him into my arms. He was exhausted, and so was I. There was plenty of time to help him understand the intricacies of love. But not just then.

He fell asleep only minutes later, and I lie here now, listening to the steady sounds of his breathing, absorbing his warmth. He may wake screaming in an hour...two...maybe tomorrow. There's no way that his suffering is over. He may never be completely free from the demons that haunt him, but for now at least, he's at rest. I can feel the difference in him. In the looseness of his body, the ease of his breathing...even the tiny frown that usually creases the area between his eyebrows is gone.

Sleep well, Alex. At least for now, you're at peace.

At least for now, the bleeding has stopped.

END

  
Archived: 13:55 03/07/01 


End file.
